I was eating a cracker and looking out the window
watching leaves break away, carried away
on the wind chaotically struggling to do something akin to flying
then interrupted again and again by the black concrete
and I felt sad, staring at decay so brilliantly displayed
like some Jackson Pollock painting with colors spotted
and peppering with each new addition
it felt like an invitation to relinquish, but be not in control with a purpose-
that’s a distinction, right?
I still have no answer to Fall when it asks every year
what are you willing to give?
though I know nothing is ever wasted
I know I have a hard time letting go
and seasons just happen, they don’t wait for permission
so there’s one lesson I still have left to learn
as I’m relinquishing control for meaning
treating it as something ineffable, like a divine name
or the shapes you see when you close your eyes
or the background color in memories
everything, as far as I can tell
is painted and feels like wind.
Fall, Again
Not long has passed, but enough
is enough I’m not trying to rip apart
anything that might be
nice and what you want, but
I want to brush you away
as if running my hands through lavender
and taking only what is given
(the sweetest scent).
You don’t know yet just how
audacious and roused I can be
and when i act silly it is as a jester
meant to make you laugh in brilliance
because i think your laugh is brilliant-
or is it just you?
Or is is just my romantic thoughts? I don’t mind
if my vision of you breaks into a harsh reality,
it is the same as the magic
of the sublime, the Pacific
the soul (a metaphor, my dear) all simultaneously
consisting of a thrashing mixture of up and down and
of fear and ecstasy: do you understand
what i mean? It’s a feeling like a poem
simple and cryptic
that I don’t mean you to interpret
and I don’t mean to stare
I swear
I’m just floating lazily on top
of the waves akin to a dance-
nothing on purpose just swaying
lovely like you do.
the Sweetest Scent
Cruel double negatives you don’t know what I mean
Just know that I don’t give no damn ‘bout no California King
chopsticks and chicken scratch I keep a fine line with my elegance
cheap clothes and calloused hands keep me cradled up like ice baths
knees deep business boy bopping out while I still got a choice
Jack-K gonna hit the road trade my motorbike buy a mini van
might do it just to say I did- might make mexico my mission kid
maybe you didn’t catch all that so let me say while I still got a chance
Corporations and Churches keep claiming cheap reliefs
and I aint mad or nothing but at the top I saw it all unravelling
like string cheese, like a dark blue bourbon moon shine
shining blindly fiddler on the roof
sing to me while I sing to you something fresh and free and full of proof